


The Warrior

by Sookiestark



Series: Seven Times Tyrion Married Sansa [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-01-24 11:00:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18570067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sookiestark/pseuds/Sookiestark
Summary: A re-telling of season eight. Where Tyrion and Sansa find each other after all the wars in Westeros. After all, they are both warriors in their own way.





	1. Loras

**Author's Note:**

> I am not super into fix-its and I don't really know if this is one really. But the story wanted to be told. So here it is

When Tyrion Lannister heard the word of Ser Loras Tyrell's death, he was in Meereen. They had just secured the city and the Queen had returned with her dragons. The letter that had told the news had been in Varys' script and so he had believed the weight of it more. Slowly, he had sunk to the stone steps beneath his feet. 

The letter had not just contained news of Loras' death but of the destruction of the Sept of Baelor with wildfire at the Queen's own hand. In one dramatic, deadly show, Cersei had wiped out all her perceived enemies; House Tyrell, the High Septon and his Sparrows, and their Uncle, Kevan Lannister. She had also burned up several blocks of smallfolk in King's Landing. All gone in a flash of green fire. Cersei had become the Mad Queen.

Tyrion had sat and finished reading the letter. It spoke of King Tommen’s grief at the event and how he had plunged to his death stepping out his window. Tyrion felt the breath rush out of him. He felt lightheaded and tired. Gods, what had she done? He wondered about his nephew and his heart grew heavy.

Looking down at the letter, in the postscript, it spoke of how Jon Snow had fought a battle for Winterfell and won his home back. His sister, Lady Sansa, was at his side and safe by all accounts. After the victory, Jon proved his mettle as a warrior and a leader and the North made him King in the North.

Tyrion held the letter for a very long time and then he poured himself some wine.

That night, in his bed, the Hand of the Queen thought of Ser Loras, the Knight of Flowers and his lost wife, Lady Sansa. He remembered how much she had been taken with Ser Loras. Tyrion could not fault her for being enamored with the knight. Ser Loras was handsome, strong, skilled, and brave. It was as if he was the Warrior himself. 

Once, long ago, she had shown him the petals of a rose he had given her as a favor. They had been pressed in her prayer book, a secret treasure for a girl. At the time, he had smiled gently as she had shown them to him. Gain her confidence he had thought and you may one day win the girl's heart.

Still, it had hurt. The knowledge that his young wife had found him wanting and wished he was different. Mostly, because Tyrion himself had wished for the same; to be brave, to be strong, to be tall, to hold a sword on his hip, to not be a dwarf. He had wanted her to want him, to love him, to desire him. It had all hurt so he had whispered on his wedding night, “In the dark, I am the Knight of Flowers.”

But neither of them believed his words and he never did get Sansa’s love.

Tyrion did not sleep that night. Instead, he hoped that the King in the North would keep his sister safe from harm.


	2. Theon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty brief but I want to keep this story brief. 
> 
> I don't really want Theon to die but I think his fate is sealed.

When Tyrion Lannister found out Theon Greyjoy had died, it had been dawn at Winterfell. He remembered how the sun bled pink and red across the sky, chasing the dark and the horrors of the battle away. He had stepped out into the cold morning air and thought that they might have a chance. If they could face Death and win, surely they stood a chance against his sister, Cersei. 

Then, he saw the bodies and the carnage of the battle. He looked up at Lady Sansa who was standing beside him. She had smiled when they had heard the victory horn and she had hugged him, the relief of survivor. Together, they had walked outside and Tyrion had thought that maybe he had warmed her heart. Lady Sansa stopped smiling when she saw the extent of the damage.

Tyrion had not listened to his Queen. She had told him to go in the crypts and he had not. Something about being in the crypts with the women and children and Samwell Tarly was too much. He knew he would never be as good a warrior as Jaime, or even Pod, for that matter. But he was still a man and he could fight. It had been dismissive and felt as if he was not a man. So, when Daenerys had gone to Drogon, Tyrion had stayed on the ramparts. 

As he stood their disobeying his Queen, Sansa stood beside him disobeying her brother and sister's request. Of course, Jon and Arya had asked their sister, Sansa to go to the crypts. Perhaps, Sansa had felt similarly like she should not be relegated to the crypts. After all, she was the Lady of Winterfell and these were her people's fate. Weren't they both warriors in their own right? Hadn't they survived terrible battles of their own?

When the fighting had gotten bad, Tyrion had asked her, “My Lady, you may want to go in now. It is dangerous.”

She had looked at him, “Lord Tyrion, I am fine here.”

It was not until the dead crawled up the walls of Winterfell that Tyrion realized they both should be in the crypts. Of course, then it was too late. Tyrion called the men to defend their Lady, but they were too busy with trying to keep the dead at bay. Seeing that this rampart was lost, Tyrion had grabbed an ax of dragon glass and Sansa had picked up a club studded with dragon glass they went into the halls of Winterfell to find safety. 

In the first hallway, they encountered two stray wights and the weight of their stubbornness weighed on him. Looking up at Sansa, he could see that she knew her own stupid pride had gotten her in a dangerous situation that she might not get out of alive. Hallway after hallway, they fought through half a dozen stray wights. When they both knew they could not fight anymore and they would not make it to the crypts, Tyrion started to despair. It seemed Winterfell was overrun with the dead. However, Sansa grabbed his hand. "Come, my Lord, my chambers are here. The door is solid and thick and there is an iron bar to hold it. It is our only hope. I dare not go further."

Tyrion had not liked the idea of just a sturdy oaken door with a bar to keep them safe from the Night King’s army but the could not face more wights without someone more seasoned than either the two of them. Together, they put the heavy bar on the door and pushed a table against it. 

Sansa sat on her bed and watched the door. Almost immediately, they could hear the scratching against the door. Soon, the sound of weapons could be heard hacking at it. Tyrion walked to the fire and began to wonder what they might use to burn at least the first few that burst through the door. 

However, looking at her pale face, he could see a glimmer of fear in her river blue eyes and a tightness in her jaw. He whispered to her, “Come here Sansa and bring the bed sheets.”

Quickly, she pulled the sheets of the bed as Tyrion found an unsteady chair to break to pieces. When she saw what, he was doing she ran to around the room finding anything that might be flammable, books, letter, oil for her lamps. As they worked beside each other, Tyrion thought to make a joke about how different he thought an invitation to her bedchambers might be but he thought better than to say it. 

When the wights finally hacked a hole in the door, they started screaming and pulling at the wood, trying to make space bigger so that one of them might fit through it. Sansa never screamed but her face got paler. Tyrion took her hand and smiled. “I am sorry. If I had not been born this way, I might have protected you.”

Sansa took his hand and squeezed, a forced smile on her face, “Do not apologize. We are both fools to stand on the ramparts when neither of us are warriors. Anyway, you did fine. You are good with your ax.”

Just when the hole in the door was big enough for one of the dead to crawl through, there was a loud sound of shattering ice and then an eerie silence. Tyrion was first to emerge to look at the hole and see where the dead had gone. Sansa crept behind him with her torch made from a bed sheet and a chair leg in her hand. 

It was then they heard the victory horn, sounded to tell the survivors that they had won.

Tyrion had looked at Sansa. She had placed the torch in the fire and hugged him tightly. For the first time since he had arrived in Winterfell, he saw gentleness in her eyes and warmth, not the usual disdain and coldness that she had given him since he had arrived. 

Sansa took his hand and they walked out of the room together to the door where the yard was. As they walked through the open door, Tyrion saw the sunrise and found himself seeing the color of Sansa’s hair in the red of the morning sky. When they got to the godswood, she released his hand. Jon, Daenerys, Bran and some others were standing over the body of an old man in the snow. As Tyrion got closer, he realized the grey-haired body was not an old man, but a young man old before his time. The body in the snow was Theon Greyjoy.

Lady Sansa must have made the realization at the same time. She ran to the body and gathered him in her arms. Jon tried to stop her, tried to soothe her. He told her the story of Theon’s bravery and loyalty. Someone said that he had fought like the Warrior himself. Tyrion could not see who said it. Instead, he watched Sansa cry over her foster brother while Jon kneeled beside her in the bloody snow, trying to soothe her. Brandon watched with his unfeeling stare and Tyrion looked at the Queen he could see her anger but could not understand why 

For a moment, Tyrion wished Sansa would want him to soothe her grief. He thought what might he say but did not think words would help. He watched her and knew there would no pretty girls to cry for him if he had fallen. At that moment, he heard Jaime’s voice and turned to hug his brother. After all, there were another battle to fight and more plans to devise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So some of this is a little twisting of episode 3 which has sat in my head for a week or two.. Now, this is my wish for what happened.

The following night, Tyrion sat in his room alone. He was exhausted and drunk. The last day had been a mixture of burning the dead, tending to the sick, assessing the damage and repairing the defenses. He had been busy, so busy. His legs hurt and his head hurt worse. But still, sleep would not come for him. So, Tyrion drank the last cups he could pour from the wine jug he had brought to his rooms. 

The feast celebrating their victory had been quieter than he would have thought but then there were fewer survivors than he had thought there would be. He could not stop his brain from thinking of how much of their army had fallen and how that would impact the battle with Cersei. They were at a disadvantage but there had been very few times in the last year that Tyrion had felt his Queen, Daenerys, had been in a favorable place. 

Even if the party was smaller and more sedate, the wine had flowed and the company had been good. Tyrion had been glad to see his brother happy. It had reminded him of when he was younger and stuck at Casterly Rock. Jaime would sometimes visit and they would laugh and drink. Tyrion still cherished the memories he had of those visits and the times he spent with Jaime alone. Looking up at his brother, Tyrion could see more scars and gray in his brother’s handsome face, but still, it seemed to make him even more attractive. Jaime was laughing and enjoying the feast, but his eyes would not stop looking at Brienne. Brienne was glowing as bright as the fire under Ser Jaime's gaze. When Jaime had followed Brienne out of the room, Tyrion had wished his brother well. Of course, Jaime did not need any wishes or luck. The giant woman and his brother were probably naked in each other’s arms and her maidenhead gone hours ago. 

As the party was ending, people were drifting away in couples to rooms and corners in Winterfell. Several women had looked at him and he had smiled with his wine jug and went to his room. He did not want that, not really. Tyrion needed his wits about him and a woman would dull his senses. 

Tyrion felt like he was preparing for his own battle. He had seen the tension between the Queen and Jon Snow. He had seen how much Lady Sansa had despised Queen Daenerys. His brother’s fight had ended for now, but for Tyrion, his battle was just beginning. How could he keep what was left of his Queen's army together until she had the Iron Throne? How would he keep them from tearing it all down? 

He was surprised to hear the knock on the door and he wondered who it might be. Perhaps, his Queen could not sleep and wanted to talk strategy, or maybe, it was Varys come to plot and plan. When he opened the door, he was surprised to see Lady Sansa standing there. She had a jug of wine in her hand. Smiling a half smile, “My Lord, I cannot sleep and I bring gifts.” 

Sansa raised the jug in an offering. 

Tyrion tucked his shirt in and thought to get his jacket off the bed. He did not want her to see him in the firelight without his jacket. Without his jacket, she might see his arms and he could not bear to see the disgust or pity in her eyes. Smiling, without showing any of his fears, he swung his door open and gestured her in, "My Lady, the words you speak are as sweet as music to me. Come and bring your wine.”.

He picked his jacket off the bed and put it on while she sat and poured herself a cup of wine. He sat next to her and drank another sip. Looking at the fire, Tyrion wondered why she had come to his room. But he did not want to ask, afraid she might leave and he found himself enjoying sitting beside someone.

After a few minutes of silence, Sansa spoke, “Tyrion, you said something last night. You said you were sorry you could not protect me. You shouldn’t apologize. You have protected me, as best as you could. Not just last night but before, as well. You protected me better than any of them.”

Then, she turned to look at him and reached for his hand. Tyrion gave it to her and Sansa’s face softened, “You were the best of them.”

Tyrion drank and set his glass on the table beside him, “That is a terrifying thought.”

 

They laughed. Tyrion’s eyes met hers and his breath caught in his throat. Sansa was not looking at him critically, or calculating, or with disdain. Instead, she was looking at him as a woman might look at a man she found herself flirting with, someone she was attracted to. It was similar to the look that Brienne had given Jaime. Of course, it was cooler and more subtle because it was Sansa Stark. 

Tyrion looked into her eyes and spoke, hoping his voice sounded sarcastic and not vulnerable, “Maybe, we should have stayed married.” 

Looking at him, Sansa's eyes were inviting. Then as if she remembered something, they darkened, “It never would have worked out. You have divided loyalties and it would have become a problem.”

Sansa looked away and back to the fire but she did not let go of his hand. Tyrion stood up and walked to her. Standing in front of her, he did not touch her. If he had been brave like Jaime or Jon, he would have reached across the inches and taken her face in both his hands and kissed her. But he was not brave. Tyrion was afraid. He was filled with fears about Cersei’s army and Cersei’s child, about the Seven Kingdoms, about the safety of Winterfell, about Daenerys and her mental health, about if he reached out to Sansa would reject him, or worse, laugh. She did not look at him. Tyrion spoke, “Sansa, look at me.”

Sansa looked up from her cup and he noticed how vulnerable she seemed and how uncomfortable that made her. Taking a deep breath, Tyrion weighed his actions and realized if he faced his sister’s army without telling her the truth, he would be a fool. “Sansa, if we were married, you would be my family, the mother to my children? Do you really think I would have divided loyalties?”

He felt her move as if she was going to stand up and leave. However, her gaze did not leave him and her eyes seemed to grow sad. Instead of leaving, Sansa perched on the edge of her seat. Leaning into him, Sansa took her pale hand and touched his beard. Speaking, she ran her fingers over the scar on his face. “You grew this to hide your scar?”

Tyrion wondered if she had ever touched him so gently. His heartbeat quickened and his chest ached. A thousand witty remarks rose in his brain to defend him from any intimacy or hurt that she might speak. However, he found he couldn’t say anything. 

Leaning into him, Sansa kissed him. The closeness and the warmth of the kiss overwhelmed his senses. Being kissed by any beautiful woman would have made him aroused and excited but the fact it was Sansa was too much. Tyrion took his hand and put it in her glorious red hair and took his other hand and cupped her neck. He could feel her pulse flutter and she pushed toward him. When her mouth parted for his, Tyrion stepped closer to her, wondering how long he had hoped she might kiss him. When her tongue grazed against him, he felt his pants grow uncomfortably tight. Running his thumb against the column of her throat, he moved his other hand down the length of her spine, wondering where the ties might be so he could loosen her dress and touch her. He could barely think but it was this thought that made him pull away from the kiss. 

Sansa was flushed and breathless. Her eyes were half closed and they were dark with desire. Tyrion could feel his face was flushed. Sansa was trembling and he was as well. 

Running his thumb across her cheek, he whispered, “Surely you must know you would be my only priority if you were mine.”

She took his hand from her face and smiled. Slowly, remembering who she was, Sansa composed herself. She kissed his palm and released his hand. Standing up, she smiled, “Tyrion, I should leave you. You still have another war to fight and you need to have your wits with you. You need to know for what you fight.”

Tyrion wanted to stop her but instead, he watched her leave.


	4. Rhaegal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok-So this is a bit of the books blended in the show-

Tyrion laid in his bed in his rooms at Harrenhal. It was late and he could not sleep. Expectation and anxiety swirled all around him like the dust motes in this abandoned haunted keep. Tomorrow they would head to King’s Landing to face Queen Cersei and the Golden Company. It had been a whirlwind of events in the last few moons and the Hand was tired. Regardless of how tired he was, though tomorrow would be the beginning of the finale of this story. 

After the Battle for Winterfell, in fact, the very morning it was over. Tyrion had seen the tension between his Queen and Jon Snow. He had ascribed it to the tensions of battle and the grief of the ones they lost. When Tyrion went to speak with Queen Daenerys, he found her sick, hunched over a pot in her rooms. Her eyes were red with tears. 

Missandei was with her with a wet cloth, helping the Queen the best she could. Tyrion spoke already understanding before he said a word, “Your Grace, you are unwell. Perhaps, we should call the Maester to have him examine you.”

Daenerys seemed miserable and her voice sounded such when she spoke, “There is no need. I had suspicions and I need no Maester to tell me what my issue is. I am pregnant, Tyrion.”

Tyrion had spoken gently. He remembered a sense of confusion at why the Queen would be distraught. An heir to the Iron Throne was a good thing. Jon Snow was as good a man as any to be a consort to the Queen. He was noble birth but had been raised knowing that he would never rule so he would not resist as some lords might the rule of another. He was loyal, true, honest, and brave. Most importantly, Tyrion saw how much care he had in his eyes when he looked at Daenerys.

“My Queen, surely, this is happy news. Have you told your Warden of the North?”

She wiped her lips with the cloth that Missandei handed her. “I have not. I must tell him. I am certain he will want to marry me and I do not know…”

Tyrion looked at her. His Dragon Queen was keeping something from him. She seemed afraid and confused. He wondered what was her concern that it would make such a happy time so conflicted for her. He spoke again, “My Queen, you seem concerned. Tell me what your worries are and I can help you solve them. It is my job.”

Daenerys looked at him, almost angry. “No.. I have no concerns. It is just troubling that this news would come before the war we still must fight. Tyrion, perhaps you might have Jon come here to attend to me and I would tell him the news.”

Whatever the Queen and Jon spoke of, when they emerged from her rooms, they both seemed miserable and unhappy. Jon Snow demanded that they were married as he would not father a bastard, even if that bastard would be the heir to the Seven Kingdoms. At first, the Queen seemed hesitant. Tyrion had convinced her that she must have a husband if she was pregnant. After all, there were already scurrilous rumors about her morals and her sexual appetites. 

They were married on the following night in the godswood. When she spoke her vows, Tyrion saw her touch her stomach protectively. When Jon said his vows, Tyrion saw the same resolute commitment that he had seen whenever Jon vowed something. Tyrion remembered how strange it was that Jon Snow who had been always been gentle and a bit lovestruck in Daenerys’ presence, would seem like he was preparing for war on his wedding night. 

It was not as if the newlyweds did not share a few soft moments during the wedding feast. They laughed a few times. When the Queen fed him some cake from her hand, Tyrion could see the open desire and affection on Snow’s face. When they danced, after being cajoled by the Northern Lords, Jon’s hands lingered with tenderness and Daenerys’ eyes were soft and dark. 

Tyrion was troubled but not too much. After all, they were warriors. They had fought so long and so hard, always defensive, always looking for danger. Maybe they did not know how to love or allow themselves to be happy. Maybe, neither of them had ever been happy. Tyrion’s eyes were drawn to Sansa on the left of Jon and thought that he had never been a warrior but that he might be more like Daenerys and Jon then not. 

Right before the Queen and her husband retired, Daenerys spoke the words that legitimized Jon Snow in front of the hall. The hall cheered but Daenerys did not look at Jon when she spoke the words giving him the name Stark. As smooth as a courtier and as quick, Jon took the Queen’s hand and thanked her but instead of being Jon Stark, he would take a new name Jon Longclaw.

Tyrion looked at Lady Sansa and saw the words Jon had spoken had little effect on her outward appearance but he knew that she was pleased with Jon’s new name. After all, a newly legitimized male heir with the name Stark would have a great claim to Winterfell. Jon had smoothed any ruffled feathers in a gracious act. Tyrion had wondered how long Jon had dreamed of being a Stark and he gave it up in a few seconds for his sister. Tyrion found himself again impressed by Jon. 

But Tyrion could not shake what it was that made his Queen’s eyes burn with secrets when she legitimized Jon Longclaw. 

Tyrion had sat for a while longer at the main table in the Great Hall. He watched Brienne and Jaime drift away to their rooms. He watched Podrick and the girl with the dark hair and sweet laugh scurry off to a room somewhere in the keep. Tyrion watched the wine disappear in his glass. 

He was broken away from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. Sansa was looking at him, “My Lord, perhaps we could speak privately.”

Tyrion had followed her to her study. As they had walked, Tyrion had allowed himself to wonder if she might be taking him to her rooms to seduce him. He chuckled to himself and knew he had drunk a great deal to even wonder that. 

When they arrived at her study, Sansa had spoken of another ruler, a better ruler, who might not be so quick to punish, one who might forgive. Then, she told him of what Bran had told them that day. Jon Snow was not Eddard Stark’s son but Rhaegar Targaryen’s with Lyanna Stark. Jon was not a bastard but trueborn, his parent’s married on the banks of the Gods’ Eye. Jon’s name was not Snow or Longclaw but Targaryen. Suddenly, Tyrion realized why the Queen was conflicted. She had just married herself to the man with the best and strongest claim to her throne, Aegon Targaryen. 

Sansa spoke, “Your Queen is unstable but her husband is not. We will need stability after all the wars. Someone who can forgive. Someone steady.”

Tyrion spoke, “Jon is her husband. He can help her.”

“Perhaps, but Jon has not been raised as a Targaryen. He will have to overcome what he might feel now that he knows she is his Aunt.”

Tyrion knew he was partially to blame for all the rest of what happened. After all, he should have said nothing. It was treason and yet, he did it all the same. As soon as he left Sansa, he had gone to Varys and told him. Varys had told him he felt Jon had a better right and more importantly, a better temperament. Of course, even before they departed from Winterfell, Tyrion had seen Varys whispering in corners with Lords of the North and Lords of the Vale. 

Tyrion knew that Varys had been sending ravens at even White Harbor. He had even seen him whispering to Lord Manderly on the docks. As soon as they were done their plotting, Tyrion had watched as Lord Manderly had kissed the Queen’s hand with a flourish and chivalry more seen in the Reach than in the North as if he was loyal. Daenerys had taken flight with her dragons to the sky and Tyrion had thought to himself perhaps her dreams were disappearing as well. 

 

The Queen and her husband, Jon Longclaw, had split up with the Queen taking her ships and dragons to Dragonstone to wait. Jon had marched with the army the month-long walk to King’s Landing. Tyrion had learned that even though they were man and wife, Jon did not share a bed with the Queen. This troubled Tyrion. 

When they stopped in Gulltown for supplies, he had seen Varys step off and hand a child a bag of messages. Tyrion had given him a warning look but his friend had avoided it. Varys had let him know that as Jon marched South his army grew. They called him Aegon. They cheered him. His ranks swelled with men, loyal not to Daenerys, a foreigner, a woman but to Jon Longclaw, a true born heir to the Seven Kingdoms, a hero, a warrior. 

Tyrion had thought on the journey how he would tell Daenerys of what he had done and he worried more about how she would take it. He could not think how he would do it without being fed to her dragons. At Gulltown, Tyrion had told her before she took flight. “Be careful, my Queen. Euron Greyjoy’s ships are still abroad, as is Tyrosh and Pentos. The Free Cities and the Crow’s Eye still have control over the seas until we can get the Royal fleet. Take care. Fly above the clouds.”

She laughed in her proud way but she had heeded him. Until they had neared Dragonstone, she had flown above the clouds. Tyrion had barely seen the pair of dragons. Once he had seen a great shadow through the clouds. Perhaps, it was what took her by surprise. One minute, she was in the clouds surrounded by light and the ethereal whiteness and the next minute she was descending into the world of color and sea. They had not expected an attack. 

His Queen had only just started the descent, Rhaegal near Drogon, when the first metal spike went sailing in the air. Euron Greyjoy had missed and it had only annoyed the green dragon. After all, shooting a metal spear 500 feet in the air was hard enough but on a boat at a moving target was near impossible. All it had done was incensed his Queen and her beastly children. 

In a few minutes, Greyjoy’s fleet was burning. The Queen had two full grown, battle proven dragons. However, Euron had gotten lucky. Rhaegal had bore down hard on his ship, the Silence, specifically, sensing the threat. In a second, before his ship was engulfed in flames, Euron let loose the volley. The metal spike found purchase in the dragon’s eye. Rhaegal’s body smashed the rest of the fleet, sinking three ships as he crashed below the surface. 

At least half a dozen of the Queen’s ships were sunk by enemy fire, including the small dinghy that had her handmaidens trying to get safely to the shore. Missandei’s lithe still body washed up among the burnt wood and Ironborn dead. Tyrion had tried to soothe his Queen but she had no solace. 

Immediately, she was terrified that Jon Snow and the small remainder of her khalasar and Unsullied would be attacked. She would not be soothed. It was then Tyrion had told her of the rumors that Jon Snow was the trueborn heir and how men were arriving every day to increase the army. She stopped speaking and stop bathing. Daenerys lay in her rooms, barely moving. The betrayal too great. Tyrion tried to soothe her telling her that Jon Snow had taken no liberties or claim. It was said he would not confirm any claims of his birth and only said he was fighting for the true Queen, Daenerys Targaryen.

Tyrion had approached her, after several days of not eating. “Your Grace, you must eat. I have heard you will not eat anything. You must be strong. If we are to face Cersei, we need you well. For the child. A baby needs food.”

She had looked at him, her hair unbraided and her pale face sad, “I worry, Tyrion. Jon is out there. I cannot risk Drogon but I cannot stop thinking of the threat to him. I could not bear to lose him. But I fear, he will betray me like all the rest. ” 

“My Queen, I would not worry for Jon Snow. He is a warrior and a true commander”

The Queen had eaten a bit of fruit and cheese for the baby but her grief was great.

 

Tyrion had suggested they go to Harrenhal. The castle had been without occupants since the War of the Five Kings and it was well placed to launch an attack on King’s Landing. If Euron Greyjoy’s fleet was destroyed, they could call Yara Greyjoy to defend Dragonstone and the seas. Also, it would be easier to communicate and wait for Jon.

Daenerys was anxious to move her Court but her anxiety about Jon had overruled any fear. When they arrived in Harrenhal, already Tyrion could see the beginnings of an army. Jon Snow came and men followed him. It was only when they saw Jon all in black riding with the men that Dany said to Tyrion, “He looks like a king.” 

 

As soon as Jon arrived, other men began to gather with fresh armies. Lord Garlan Tyrell who had saved Highgarden rode with Hightowers, Fossaway’s, Oakhearts. Lord Hightower came with new men as did Lord Farman. The Velaryons, the Crakehalls came pledging what men they had. The new Prince of Dorne Qyle Martell the poorer cousin raised up from castellan’s son to Prince brought troops from Dayne, Yronwood, Wyl, and Jordayne. From the Riverlands came Lord Tully. Lord Piper, Lord Mooton, Lord Blackwood, and Lord Bracken. They all came with slips of paper sent by raven and written in Varys’ hand.

At first, Daenerys had been thrilled to see the people of the Seven Kingdoms turn out for her and her claim. Her eyes softened and Tyrion had thought the look on his Queen’s face was a victory. But it was only momentary.

In the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, the lords gathered to swear allegiance to the Queen. However, all that was disrupted by a young lord. It was Lord Edric Dayne who brought the old Dornish woman forward who told the tale of being brought to the Tower of Joy by Lord Commander Hightower to feed the infant prince while his mother lay dying. This was confirmed by Lord Reed, a small, grey-haired man who had pledged his troops to Jon in the Neck. 

Instead of the hall erupting in cheers for Daenerys, the hall rang for Aegon Targaryen VI. Slowly, each man came forward and spoke, bowing. “I pledge my men to fight for Aegon Targaryen, trueborn son of Rhaegar, rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms.

The men cheered. What could his Dragon Queen do? She was the wife of the true-born heir and now that all the lords had heard the truth, she had no claim. Daenerys had always seen herself as the righteous and now if she pressed her claim, it would be she who would be the usurper. Tyrion looked toward his Queen. Daenerys looked miserable as she watched her throne disappear. She smiled weakly at each new lord who bowed before Jon and he saw her dig her nails in her hand. They cheered for him, King Aegon VI. They drank to him. 

Jon looked at her wounded as if he was the one who was hurt. He took Daenerys’ hand in his. Speaking to her, Tyrion overheard him say, “We will rule together.”

But when the lords took council they forgot to invite her. Tyrion had rushed to include her and Jon, now Aegon, had apologized but the slight had cut too deep. Tyrion knew the hurt was deep. That night he found the Queen alone. She had scratches and cuts in her hand from her nails. Tyrion assessed the angry red cuts, “My Queen, you have hurt yourself. Look I have brought you some handmaidens, All distant cousins of yours, Aelena Velaryon, Lady Bethany Blackwood, Lady Allyria Dayne. All good women to help you in this difficult time. To help soothe you in your sorrow.”

She had said nothing to him but she seemed pleased when the young women started to bandage her hands and brush her hair. It had helped some but it would not replace Rhaegal or Missandei or her throne. But she would not look at him. 

After he left the Queen, he went and found Jon. Jon was alone on the twisted ramparts, looking at the army outside of the walls, his army. Tyrion spoke, “My Lord, I mean… Your Grace.”

Jon did not smile even though Tyrion had smiled. Tyrion continued, “I apologize… I find myself joking at terrible situations. It’s a bad habit but I am a man given to bad habits. My Lord, I know it has been a hard day for you And the last month has been stressful and confusing but I worry for my Queen. I know you are King now and can do as you like. But she has lost much and her pain is great. You must go to her and give her comfort.” 

Jon spoke, “I do not want a throne. I fight for her claim.”

“Be that as it may, it appears the lords have decided to stand behind you. Perhaps, if you would comfort her, the Queen’s grief and anger might subside. Find your way back to her bed.”

Jon spoke in a growl, “She is my Aunt. I cannot.” 

“She is also your wife. And your child grows inside her all the same. Love and care could help. She is unwell. She needs you. If you want her well enough to ride Drogon in battle, she needs you.” 

At this, Jon turned to look at him, “I do not want her to fight. She has my child inside her. It is not safe.”

“She is a warrior and she has waited her whole life for this fight. She will not stop now. You need her to fight but you need her to be well and good. Drogon will keep her safe but she needs to be loved. Our Queen demands it like air or food.”

“I do not understand…”

 

Tyrion scratched his beard and leaned against the wall, “Have you ever heard the story of Baelor the Blessed? He was a Targaryen King. He was married to his sister, Daena? He had no choice in it, as is the case with most nobles. Anyway. he found he could not tolerate the incest. King Baelor could not lust after his sister or love her. He locked her with his other sisters for ten years. While she was locked away, she had a bastard. Daemon Blackfyre. And so the Wars with the Blackfyres began. My brother would say if Baelor just fucked his wife a few times how many thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of lives would have been spared? Sometimes, we do things for duty. Your duty is to make your wife happy and well. Love her well, Jon. We need her well.”

Jon looked at him with a look that echoed his melancholy and a certainty that Tyrion was wrong.

Tyrion spoke, slowly. “Daenerys is no different now that you know she is your blood. She is still the same woman you loved so strongly only a moon ago. The one you could not stop touching or whispering in corners with. She is the same. You love her still.”

 

Jon ran his fingers through his hair, “Excuse me, my lord.” Later, Allyria Dayne sent a message that the King was currently sleeping beside the Queen and they had sounded happy and well pleased. But somehow, Tyrion could not break the idea that things might go terribly wrong. His Queen was not well. She had lost Jorah, Missandei, Viserion, Rhaegal. Cersei had gone mad when she had lost her children. Perhaps, mothers had their own battles and were another kind of warriors. They risked everything and when all hope was lost, they kept on, at least the strongest did. It was imperative that this baby and Drogon be kept safe.

Tyrion got up from his bed when he heard the knock. It was Lord Davos Seaworth. Varys had been found dead. His tongue and hands had been cut from his body and nailed to his bed before his throat was slit. Tyrion invited the man to come in and talk. There was much to discuss. After all, Varys had been murdered but it was clear that a message was sent that he had been killed for treason and his offending parts removed before his death. 

Davos and Tyrion were not warriors but they still needed a plan for the battles ahead.


End file.
